


Old Wounds, New Wounds

by FantasticallyFoolishIdea



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Globe Theatre (2009), Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Hurt Benvolio, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fic, Protective Mercutio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6069613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticallyFoolishIdea/pseuds/FantasticallyFoolishIdea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for tumblr.</p><p>"Mercutio, I need you to pull your head out of the Middle Ages. I'm not some maid whose honour you need to protect."</p><p>Benvolio comes home injured. He and Mercutio realise that they have some issues to work through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Wounds, New Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt given by [whowantsafriend](http://whowantsafriend.tumblr.com): Mercutio x Benvolio using the line “is that blood? Why are you bleeding?” At least once.
> 
> This fic was a roller coaster ride for me and for the characters. The pacing and the dialogue gave me an awful lot of trouble, but I think it turned out alright in the end. Still, it would be great if you took the time to leave some constructive criticism.
> 
>  ~~Totally inconsequential, unimportant remark on the side:~~ I usually imagine the characters as portrayed by Phil Cumbus and Jack Farthing in the production of the Globe Theatre in 2009. I adore that version mostly because of how utterly comfortable they are with each other, their horsing around and all the gratuitous touching. Also, it fits quite nicely with my headcanons. Plus, it features drunk!Bencolio falling asleep on Mercutio's coat and Mercutio waking him up by tickling his nose. What's not to love about that?

~~~~Benvolio turned the key as quietly as possible, praying that the door’s old hinges wouldn’t give him away.

 

The place might have looked a little run-down in places, and he and Mercutio still had a lot of work left to do, but it was nice enough. They had discovered the ad on accident and, all things considered, the apartment still had been a steal - kind of small, yes, but otherwise exactly what they had needed after moving out of their respective homes. Also, the neighbourhood wasn’t too bad either.

 

If you were willing to ignore Sampson and Gregory, two servant’s of the Capulet family, living just around the corner, that was.

 

Who were actually part of the reason Benvolio was presently trying his hardest to remain unseen.

 

Carefully, he stepped inside.

 

The hum of the oven hinted that Mercutio was busy re-heating yesterday’s left-overs. Benvolio didn’t exactly trust him in the kitchen but at the moment he was grateful for the distraction it provided.

 

The bathroom door was now only a few steps away. Two more and he would be in the clear.

 

Just before his hand could close around the door handle a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around his middle. _Shoot._

 

“You’re home.”

Benvolio gulped. So close. He’d been _so close_.

“You know what we’re having for dinner tonight?”

He certainly did _not_ pick up on the seductive tone Mercutio his voice with. _Bad timing, thy name is Mercutio._

“Er, left-overs I’m guessing?”

 

Benvolio wanted to believe that his pathetic attempt at distraction had succeeded. He really did. Especially when, instead of immediately offering a witty retort, Mercutio took a moment to ponder over his reply.

 

“Well _…_ I suppose you’re not _wrong_ but”

Benvolio’s feeble hopes were dashed the instant Mercutio playfully bit his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of whatever cheesy one-liner was sure to follow. “I’d rather have _you_ first.”

Without warning, Mercutio had him spun around and hoisted up against the bathroom door.

The swiftness of the motion made Benvolio kind of dizzy.

“Mercutio, I don’t think-”

“What’s wrong? Are you- Whoa!”

 

Benvolio found himself dropped back on the ground about as quickly as he’d been lifted up. The manhandling was making him nauseous.

 

“What’s that?” Shock written all over his face, Mercutio looked at his hand, then at Benvolio, then back at his hand again.

“Is that- is that blood? Ben, why are you bleeding?” Indeed, the hand that had grasped his right thigh was stained a dark red. So were his pants. Come to think of it, maybe Mercutio wasn’t to blame for his light-headedness after all.

 

On another day, Benvolio would have found Mercutio’s concern endearing. Right now he was quite literally fighting the need to hurl.

“Just give me a minute, I’ll take shower and-” A pair of hands gently clasped his shoulders, effectually blocking all escape.

“Benvolio, why are you bleeding?”

“Go and fetch the first-aid-kit. It’s nothing really. I’ll just- I’ll be back in a minute. Gotta get myself cleaned up first.”

Avoiding the concern and confusion showing on Mercutio’s face, Benvolio abruptly twisted out of his grasp and made for the bathroom.

 

Then the lock clicked shut.

 

+++

 

They rejoined in the living room a good ten minutes later.

 

Benvolio, having changed into a large T-shirt and boxers, claimed the couch for himself while Mercutio, still donning the same jeans and a hoodie, pulled a chair directly opposite him.

 

The first-aid-kit sat between them on the coffee table, untouched.

 

Seconds ticked by, while the young men continued scowling at each other, Benvolio subtly pulling faces while Mercutio kept crossing and uncrossing arms and legs,.

 

But ultimately, neither of them spoke.

 

Growing impatient, Mercutio eventually opted for the sensible route.

“Would you please tell me what happened already? You come home all-” He gestured vaguely at Benvolio. The fresh clothes had revealed more scratches and bruises and Mercutio was slightly unnerved. “torn up and won’t even tell me what happened. I’m worried, okay? ” Benvolio reclined further on the couch, a stubborn set to his jaw.

“Please, could you stop acting like an ass for a minute and let me fix you up? I’d kinda like to move past this and go back to being a stupidly sappy cliché again.”

 

This was about as romantic as Mercutio let himself get. To his amazement, Benvolio felt touched nonetheless. Maybe his behaviour towards his lover really was unfair. Reluctantly Benvolio started talking.

“I fell.”

“You what?”

“Into a bush.”

Mercutio immediately had his doubts abut that story. A notorious troublemaker since early childhood, he’d stumbled, crashed and fallen into several kinds of bushes for a multitude of reasons and never had he ended up looking like _that_.

“A bush. Right.”

“It had thorns, alright?”

 

Not alright, because Mercutio had, in fact, made close acquaintance with a thorn bush back when he‘d been seventeen and had hit on the wrong guy’s girlfriend. Granted, the scratches suggested that a thorn bush had been involved in this mess but the bruising was too severe for a minor fall. Furthermore, he didn’t like the way certain movements made Benvolio flinch. God, why hadn’t he noticed _before_?

 

“Yeah, I figured. Boxwood doesn’t leave you looking like some rabid raccoon mauled you.” His attitude was bordering on hurtful, he knew, but his wits were  quickly coming to an end and keeping his cool proved increasingly difficult. He could feel in his bones that Benvolio was deliberately distracting him from the actual issue. But if Benvolio wanted to fight dirty, then fight dirty he would.

 

“Benvolio, please, you know I love you dearly, but I can’t help if you don’t let me.”

 

It was a cheap trick, bringing up the Phrase.

 

Call it a desperate measure but he was running out of ideas.

 

They rarely used the Phrase. Benvolio, caring soul that he was, preferred showing it and Mercutio, still sceptical about the entire concept of love, disliked saying it. At some point they had come to understand each other’s respective quirks and, without their noticing, the Phrase had become superfluous. Maybe that’s why the occasional slip up could still catch the other off-guard. Knowing was one thing, but hearing it put into words sparked an entirely different flurry of emotions.

 

At the moment, shock was the prevailing one.

 

And shock was what finally got Mercutio past Benvolio’s defences.

 

Hesitant, Benvolio averted his gaze to inspect a stain on the couch instead.

“Maybe it was less like falling and more like landing in a bush. It happened to be at the bottom of a stairway.”

Immediately, Mercutio’s throat tightened in apprehension. He had a good idea of where the conversation was heading and he didn’t like it. “Why were you tumbling down a flight of stairs?” he asked, tensing.

“Somebody” Benvolio anxiously licked his lips, stalling even though he knew Mercutio’s temper was running hot already. “might have shoved me.”

 

Like a clap of thunder, Mercutio’s hands slapped down on the coffee table.

 

The ensuing silence was deafening.

 

“I’ll kill him.”

A look of horror crossed Benvolio’s face. This was the kind of situation he had sought to avoid. Mercutio growing quiet generally foretold disaster. When he stood up, Benvolio followed immediately.

“Mercutio, calm down. I didn’t even see who-”

“That Capulet. What’s his name? Simon? Sam?”

“Sampson.”

“Sampson, that’s who. Or that other one. Why are you fucking covering for him? Did he threaten you? If he threatened you-”

 

Mercutio was steadily working himself into a rage. In a different life, he could have made an excellent Montague. Few people cursed at the name of Capulet as passionately as Mercutio was prone to do when given occasion. Old Montague probably would’ve gladly treated him like his own, had he not, in a moment of drunken negligence, declared his intentions of officially becoming a member of the family some day anyway. Afterwards, relations had gone south rapidly but so far reconciling with his family still placed rather low on his list of priorities. Right now, he had more pressing matters to worry about.

 

Such as preventing whatever rash action Mercutio was about to take.

 

“You don’t know that! Maybe it was some stupid kid, playing a prank. It’s not like I _saw_ what’s going on behind my back!”

“What if not? The Capels always pull shit like that!” Mercutio insisted and unfortunately, he had to admit, he wasn’t exactly wrong. Even after Benvolio had moved out of the family home the situation still remained delicate. No one quite remembered what had set off the decades old feud, but neither side was ready to declare the conflict over either. It just kept getting rekindled again and again, trapping generation after generation in its net.

They argued about it a lot, actually.

“Okay, so maybe it was Sam-”

“I fucking knew it!”

“So what are you planning to do about it? Start _another_ fight?”

“Yeah.” Pacing the room, shouting at each other, getting all up in each other’s face - they didn’t do that, usually. Yet here they were. Loud, agitated and standing close enough to almost feel the anger radiating off the other.

 

“Jesus Christ, what is it with you and your resentment of that family? What’s it even matter to you?”

“They hurt you, for fuck’s sake!”

 

And that’s when Benvolio understood.

 

This wasn’t about the Capulets. Mercutio didn’t give a rat’s ass about the Capulets.

 

They were still all up in each other’s space but Benvolio’s anger had deflated like a hot-air balloon. The outright hostility had gone. His posture relaxed and he almost shook his head at the extent of their idiocy. 

 

The sudden change of attitude had left Mercutio reeling yet he recognised the opportunity to end the argument too.

 

Wary of rekindling the quarrel, he remained quiet and let Benvolio speak.

 

“Hey, look at me.” Benvolio tentatively raised a hand to cup his cheek. Mindful of the tension in the room, he tried to keep his voice soothing.

“Mercutio, I need you to pull your head out of the Middle Ages.”

 

When he didn’t push him away, Benvolio raised his other hand too and used both to draw him into a hug. The familiar whiff of cologne and stubble scratching his neck felt like home.

“I’m not some maid whose honour you need to protect.”

Slowly, he tension in Mercutio’s shoulders eased.

 

“Look, he caught me off-guard today, so what. Next time, someone else is going to start a fight, and he’ll be the one sporting a black eye. Just, please, stop provoking unnecessary fights on my behalf. Remember last time you did?”

Of course, Mercutio remembered. Finally, he regained enough of his wits to wrap his arms around Benvolio’s waist, tightening the embrace and burying his face in Benvolio’s shoulder.

Still had the scar tissue to remind him. Still felt guilty about it too, if he was honest with himself.

 

“Yeah, me too. That docto- Anyway, we’ve known each other since we were brats. And without you here, alive and well I-” He loosened the embrace jut enough to gently kiss Mercutio’s lips. “Let me rephrase that. If there’s anyone who makes being a ‘stupidly sappy cliché’ bearable, it’s you.”

When Mercutio cracked a grin at his stupid joke Benvolio knew the argument was settled.

 

“That.” He pressed an affectionate kiss to Benvolio’s hairline. “has got to be the corniest thing you ever made me suffer through.”

Dragging Mercutio with him, Benvolio flopped down onto the sofa.

“I’m sure, I’ll find a way to make it up to you”, he whispered into his lover’s ear as he moved to straddle his lap. Mercutio was just about to join the flirtatious banter when a sudden realisation left him frozen in his track.

“Mercutio, what-”

 

Then, Benvolio noticed it too.

 

“What’s that smell?”

 

The guilty glint in Mercutio’s eyes made his skin crawl.

 

“That, I fear, used to be dinner.” Hastily, he jumped off the couch. “Excuse me, my love. I must fetch the fire extinguisher.”

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're interested [here's a link to my tumblr](http://fantasticallyfoolishidea.tumblr.com).
> 
> Feel free to leave a message/prompt/request.


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